Crowded
by Hoodfabulous
Summary: A story about a lonely girl, all crowded inside. My piece for the Fandom for Mental Health. Trigger warnings inside.
1. Chapter 1

_**Warning-sexual situations and self-harm.**_

 **Crowded**

 **1**

 _People say death is peaceful. But I say that all depends on how you choose to die._

 _~Bella Swan~_

Wintertime always makes me sad. Makes me want to wear my father's old thermals, climb into bed with Granny's quilt, and not open my eyes again until springtime.

This winter is no different. The sunless sky hangs overhead, the fat gray clouds heavy with rain. I slosh my way home from school, my galoshes disturbing the puddles on the sidewalk. When I make it to the end of my driveway, my pace slows to a crawl.

Sue's car sits beside my father's police cruiser, and I groan. She's been nosing around the house a lot since her husband—my father's best friend—passed away last year. A normal teenager wouldn't care about her dropping by to cook, clean, and pester Charlie about eating too much diner food. Saves me the energy after all. And I don't. Care, that is, except for the fact that Sue's daughter, Leah, rarely misses an opportunity to join her mother in her almost daily visits. And Leah? Leah hates me for some unknown reason.

If they hear the door click shut behind me, they don't show it. The rumble of their low chatter from the dining room echoes down the hallway and into the foyer. I take off my raincoat and hang it on the hook. Toeing off my rain boots, I place them on the low-lying shelf against the wall and strain to hear the topic of their conversation, but only catch a word or two. Bitterness swells inside me. They're all sitting here warm and toasty while I waded through water coming home from school. Why couldn't Charlie have picked me up if he were planning on coming home early? Or even Sue?

I curse my poor excuse of a truck for refusing to crank this morning. The seats are ripped, the exhaust overwhelming, and it backfires constantly, scaring the shit out of not only me, but everyone else within hearing distance. But it's warm. And it's dry. And it usually gets me from home to school and vice versa, the only two places I visit other than the grocery store since moving to this rainy Washington town two years ago.

No one hears me leave the foyer and creep upstairs. I tiptoe into my room and close the door behind me. I dump my backpack on the bed, and the contents spill out. The cable-knit socks Sue knitted for me are soaking wet, so I strip them off and throw them into my clothes hamper. After changing into warmer, drier clothes, I turn on my space heater and tuck into my homework.

I've always been a lackluster student, but since Sue and Charlie have been … doing whatever it is they're doing, I've been acing all my classes. Homework provides a distraction from their lovey-dovey eyes and Leah's scowling face. It also distracts me from the fact that I have no social life whatsoever.

Forks, Washington, is a tiny town. Kids have known each other since birth. When I first moved to town I was like the shiny new toy, but all things shiny dim after time. The truth is, I'm shy. Like, blushing, stumbling over my words, hide behind my hair shy. And I have no idea how to make friends because I've never had any.

Shoes clack on the wooden stairs, raising the hairs on the back of my neck. Leah enters the room without knocking, pauses at the door, and mock smiles at me. Sighing, I turn away from her, shielding the ugly with a brown curtain of hair.

"Hey, Bella." She plops down on the bed beside me. Her waiflike figure barely bounces the bed. "Doing homework already?"

I open my mouth to reply, but the words are choked off by the anxious tightness of my throat. Nodding, I work out an equation on my notebook, scribbling fast so she won't notice the shakiness of my hand.

Leah stretches her long legs out in front of her and points her toes. She's wearing little ankle boots and pants so tight they appear painted on. She toys with a lock of my hair in almost a loving way, and I freeze. My scribbling comes to a halt. She tugs a little too hard, leaving my scalp burning in pain. I bat her hand away and she laughs.

"I don't know why you're always studying so hard. S'not like you're going to college or anything." She appraises me with her lined feline-like eyes. "You can barely function in the public school system as it is."

Heat crawls up my neck. Leah doesn't attend the same school as me. She goes to school on the reservation, so there's no way she could know how I'm doing in school unless Charlie mentioned it. What. A. Traitor.

Laughing at my expression, she stands and walks around my bedroom, pausing near my bookshelf. "Oh, wow. You look almost _normal_ in this picture."

The framed photograph she picks up is one of my mother and me from about four years ago, when I was around thirteen. Renee and I grin at the cameraman, a random stranger my mother asked to snap our photo. We're wearing cheesy, vacation-themed logo T-shirts and fresh sunburns that would eventually fade into a summer tan for my mother and painful blisters for me. The Grand Canyon stands in an unfocused background, nothing but a mural of reds, browns, and tans.

The photo makes me shrink further into myself, if that's possible. I want her to put it back on the shelf, away from her disgusting hands. She doesn't deserve to touch anything of mine that's precious.

"Your mother was pretty." Leah tilts the photograph in her hand. "Mom says she was a slut. Not in those exact words, but she cheated on Charlie with another man? Then cheated on her fiancé too? No wonder she's dead. If she wasn't such a whore—"

Before I realize what I've done, I've climbed off the bed and lunged at her. Long strands of silky, pin-straight hair are wrapped around my fingers, and her grunts of pain are in my ears. I pull her hair and punch my fist into her screaming mouth until I see red, and it's not from my anger. It's from the blood. Thick, sticky, copper-scented blood coats my hands and smears my winter-warm clothes. Hit and pull. Hit and pull. Again and again until I no longer see her face from all the blood.

Two strong hands curl around my upper arms and tug me away, but I've still got her hair. Charlie drags me across the room, and in turn I drag a sobbing Leah. Sue cries somewhere in the background.

"Bella." Charlie's gruff voice and thick mustache tickle my ear. I strain to understand him over the pounding rush of blood in my temples. "Bella, let go of Leah's hair, please."

My fingers grow weak, and her slick strands slip from between them. Charlie pushes me against the wall, his hands on my shoulders. He stares at my face and I meet his eyes.

"You can't ever do this again." His face is red, one vein on his forehead bulging. "Not ever again, Bella. You girls have to get along if you're going to be stepsisters."

 _Stepsisters._

 _Stepsisters?_

Once his words sink in, I focus on the crying girl whose blood coats my hands. I hate blood. Hate the sight of it, the smell of it, the warmth of it when it spills out of a wound. The sight of someone else's blood on me makes me sick to my stomach.

My stomach seizes and I lose my lunch on the shivering, screaming girl.

* * *

This was written for the Fandom for Mental Health comp. way back around Mayish. This story is finished and will update throughout the week. Days of the week subject to change depending on my work schedule.

Preread by Jonesn. Betad by Kitchmill. Rumnernikkie gave me an idea and I sort of ran with it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Crowded**

 **2**

There's a picnic table tucked underneath the talls trees behind my house. It rests halfway between our property and the owners of the property next door. Sometimes late at night I sneak out to the table and lie down. And some nights, when the sky's not thick with clouds and the air's not saturated with torrid rain, I can see the stars and moon past the treetops.

Tonight the air is saturated with mist, but the storm clouds are passing through. They glide past a fat, white moon in rapid, rushing wisps. Moonlight peeps down to where I lie, my raincoat tucked between my back and the soggy wood.

Two days have passed since I attacked Leah. Two days since Charlie uttered a harmless yet horrifying word. _Sisters._ And this can only mean one thing: Charlie plans on marrying Sue.

I should be happy for my father, but I'm not. Why couldn't he wait until I left for college to pursue a relationship with someone? Why couldn't he have waited until I'd moved on, and not force me to try and tolerate a new mother and wicked stepsister?

The flicker of a light from the house next door garners my attention. Heart hammering, I sit up on the picnic table and turn, planting my sneakers on the seat below me. The light glows from the side of the house on the second floor, the side facing my bedroom. A silhouette of a man walks in front of the light. He works the window until it opens and the curtains flutter in the breeze. The man stares in my direction, but I can't see his face.

The house next door has been abandoned since I moved to Forks, a For Sale sign planted in the soggy grass near the end of the gravel drive. Charlie once told me an old man previously lived there and had passed away about a year prior to my arrival in town. It's always given me the creeps, knowing a person died on the property next door. Makes me wonder how many people died in that house before him, and if anyone had died in the house where I live.

Death has always fascinated me, more so since Renee passed on. For a long time I wanted to join her, and a couple times I tried.

The first time was with a razor blade. I'd slit my wrists old school style, and slowly bled out on the bathroom floor. I'd bled for an hour before my grandmother found me and called an ambulance. I'd passed out, but didn't die. Obviously.

Granny didn't put me out for my suicide attempt. Not the first time. But by the time I graduated from cutting to pills, she'd had enough. I spent two weeks in Behavioral Health, the longest my crappy medical insurance would allow. Then they released me back into the world, but it wasn't my grandmother who showed up to get me. It was Charlie.

The light next door goes out, drawing me from my thoughts. Within seconds an outside light pops on. A hot rush of panic surges inside me, and I stand. Hopping off the picnic table, I think nothing of my raincoat, not until I'm standing in my kitchen, the door clicking shut behind me.

I peek out the window over the sink, protected by the darkness of the room. The man steps out onto his back porch, the outside light silhouetting him. A flash of bronze shines in the glow, and he drags his fingers through his hair, facing the picnic table where I sat seconds ago.

Underneath the light I can see he's not a man, but a teenager, a boy my age, and he's gorgeous. Absolutely the most gorgeous boy I've ever seen in my life. And he's headed toward the picnic table. _My_ picnic table.

I back out of the room and head upstairs, saddened by the thought that I'll never go to that picnic table again.

oOo

The next day, when I duck outside in Charlie's borrowed raincoat, I catch another glimpse of the boy next door.

His hair's darker somehow. Longer on top and cut short on the sides, entirely different from the all-over shaggy mess of bronze I saw last night. He walks out of the house and onto his porch the same time I step onto mine. He pauses in front of his door, peering at me through the sheet of rain.

Charlie joins me outside, and I'm jolted from the boy's intense stare. Pulling the hood of the raincoat over my head, I step into the rain, sloshing my way through the puddles before climbing into the cruiser.

"You think you coulda avoided those puddles, Bella?" Charlie closes the cruiser door behind him and frowns at the water dripping from my boots.

"I guess I coulda." I peer at the boy. His face is a blur past the rivets of rain traveling down the passenger-side window. "Someone moved in next door."

"Really?" Charlie stares at the neighboring house. "Huh, how d'ya know?"

"There's a kid my age on the porch. See?" But even as I touch the glass window with the tip of my finger, pointing him out, he's gone. "Nevermind. Must have ducked back inside."

"Guess he'll be going to school with ya, huh? Introduce yourself. Be friendly." His voice takes on a bitter tone, and he backs out of the drive. "Everyone needs a friend."

"I don't." I'm still touching the cold glass.

oOo

Like most things in life, Charlie's wrong about the guy next door. He's not in any of my classes, and I don't see him in school all day.

Or the next day.

Or the next.

Saturday arrives, and I haven't see the guy all week. The lights have continued to flicker on at night, but not a soul steps out of the house.

I miss my picnic table, especially on clear nights like tonight. I miss the solitude of being out in the open without Charlie, Sue, or Leah lurking anywhere nearby. I miss the smell of the rain mixed with the earthy undertones of the outdoors, the sounds of the forest nearby.

I watch the house next door from the kitchen window. Chewing my nails down to the nub, I don't step outside until Charlie's snores drift downstairs and the house next door goes black.

My raincoat isn't on the picnic table when I arrive. Frowning, I strip off Charlie's borrowed coat and spread it out on the tabletop. A twig snaps somewhere behind me and I jump, opening my mouth to scream when someone places one hand on my hip, the other over my open mouth.

"Don't scream." His back is pressed against mine. I imagine he feels the pounding of my heart reverberating from my chest. Warmth washes over me as he whispers in my ear. "Don't want to wake the adults."

He drops his hand from my rigid body, and I turn, gaping at the boy. He holds out my rainslicker that had been thrown over his shoulder. Numb, I don't make a move, other than breathing, other than this beating heart of mine.

"Found this on the picnic table a few nights ago. Is it yours?" His smile fades the more he talks and the more I don't. His eyebrows pinch together and he tilts his head to one side. "You okay? Didn't mean to freak you out, just didn't want to wake up your mom and dad."

Finding my voice, I grab my raincoat from him. "She's not my mom."

"Oh, sorry." He scratches the back of his neck. His hair is longer today. Messier. And his jaw is sharp, but not quite as sharp as the boy from the porch, and I realize he's not the same guy I saw standing on the front porch of the house next door. He's the boy I saw that _first_ night, the one who stepped outside the moment I ran into the safety of my home.

"Do you have a brother? Or a twin?" I blurt out, surprising myself. I'm not usually the one to pry or initiate conversation. Hell, half my class in school believes I'm mute. They don't make it a secret.

The guy frowns, slowly nodding. "Yeah, I have a twin. You've met my brother Masen?"

"No, but I saw a guy who looks like you standing on the porch a few days ago." Swallowing my awkwardness, I offer a hand. "I'm Bella Swan."

The guy's frown breaks into a grin. He takes my hand, wrapping his fingers around mine. I'm immediately enveloped in warmth and comfort, so confining it scares the shit out of me.

"Edward Cullen."

I want him to let go of my hand, because it's the oddest connection I've ever felt with a person, but he doesn't. He holds on until there's a noise behind us. The back light flickers on and he curses, shaking his head.

"Asshole always ruins everything," he says.

A heated blush works its way from the tips of my toes to the top of my head. Edward reluctantly releases my hand, the tips of his fingers skimming my palm and sending tingles in the silliest of places.

"Meet me here tomorrow night? Around eleven?" Edward stares hard into my eyes. Under anyone else's heavy gaze, I'd squirm and look away, but for some reason I feel safe under his stare. I nod and he breaks into a grin. "See you tomorrow then, Bella."

Edward backs up, turns, and trots to his house. His sneakers splash in the puddles of water gathering on the back lawn. He opens the door and tosses me one last wave before he's swallowed up by the darkness of his house.

"Bye, Edward," I whisper.

Once I'm back inside my bedroom, I touch myself. I touch myself and think of him.

* * *

Y'all rock at reading and reviewing! Between writing and transferring to night shift (yawn), I haven't had time to reply to any reviews, but please know that I read each and every one.


	3. Chapter 3

**Crowded**

 **3**

I've never been a rebel. Never been the kind of girl to break the rules just for the hell of it. I've never been on a joyride, never skipped school, never broke the law, never had sex.

Never kissed a boy.

These are the things I think about during supper the next evening. I think about skipping school with Edward, being his ride or die in the seat next to him as we steal a car. I fantasize about his warm touch on my body—not just my hand, but on my face, chest, waist, legs. Between my legs.

My fork clatters against my plate at the thought. Charlie and Sue jerk in surprise. Mumbling an apology, I retrieve the fork and jab at the soggy pile of mac and cheese in front of me.

"Anyway," Sue says, flipping open the magazine beside her on the table. "Harriet at the dress shop agreed with me on the yellow bridesmaid dresses, and I'm so happy she did, because yellow is so vibrant, so perfect for a springtime wedding."

I stab more mac and cheese with the prongs of my fork, pretending the yellow mush is the dreaded yellow gown I'll inevitably be wearing this coming spring.

"Bella, what do you think about yellow? Don't you just love it?" Sue asks.

"Yellow washes me out." I shove the mac and cheese into my mouth, avoiding Sue and Charlie's harsh stares. "But whatever makes you happy."

"Oh, honey. If you don't like yellow—"

"Yellow is fine," Charlie interrupts.

I feel his gaze but don't acknowledge it. More mac and cheese into my mouth. Stab, bite, stab, bite. My feet jitter under the table and I shift in my chair. I'm still thinking about stolen car sex with the stranger next door. Anything other than yellow dresses.

"Too bad Leah's running late for supper." Sue sighs. "She's dating Jacob Black again."

Finally, something to smile about. Leah's had an off again, on again relationship with a rez kid named Jacob Black. Cute guy, if you're into that round-faced, clingy sort of thing. He calls her non-stop when they're not together, to the point of being annoying. I overheard Sue on the phone with her friend a few days ago, talking about how she'd read a text from Jacob to Leah. Apparently he's been pressuring her into sex, and the princess won't spread her legs.

"Bella, you know much about Jake?" Charlie asks. "I was friends with his dad when we were kids. We haven't kept in touch much through the years."

"Don't know much about him." I pretend to screw my face in thought. "I heard he's kinda stubborn. Pretty persistent when he wants something. And usually, he gets it."

Sue's the one to drop her fork this time.

The green beans are next, stabbed to death by my heavy hand. I shove them in my mouth and pretend to listen to their conversation about bouquets and boutonnieres, but the truth is, I wish Sue'd leave and Charlie would go to bed.

Leah arrives while I'm putting away the food and scrubbing the dishes clean. Our dishwasher went kaput about a month ago and Charlie hasn't called a repairman to have it fixed. Why should he when he has a built-in dishwasher named Bella?

Leaning against the counter beside me, Leah thumbs through her phone. "Having fun, Bella?"

"Loads."

Smirking, she plucks a newly washed glass out of my hand and helps herself to some milk. When she's finished, she drops her glass into the soapy water for me to wash.

"Sorry I couldn't be here for family time tonight." She flips her hair over one shoulder. "I was out on a date with Jake, my boyfriend. Something you'd know nothing about."

Leah's been especially catty since our knock-down drag-out, but only when she's one room away from Charlie or her mom. I doubt she'll ever wander into my bedroom alone again.

If she expects me to respond to her comment, she's mistaken. I'm hurriedly washing and rinsing the dishes and yawning heavily, feigning exhaustion. My disinterest seems to annoy her, which is the exact effect I'm going for. A person doesn't have to speak to get their point across.

"Listen, you little bitch," Leah whispers. "Don't think I've let what happened last week slide. You're gonna pay for what you did."

 _Oh, I'm shaking._

Rolling my eyes, I rinse off the last dish and drop it in the drying rack. Leah blocks me once I try to step around her to head upstairs.

"Why don't you go back to Arizona? Stay with your grandmother?" Leah's voice is surprisingly soft and non-threatening.

"Why do you care?"

Leah turns up her nose. "Because I don't want to share a bedroom with you in this rinky-dink house. You're disgusting. A pathetic, shriveling little thing with scars on her wrists and a fucking aura of depression following you around."

"I wasn't so pathetic a few nights ago when I was beating your ass."

Blinking in surprise, she appears stunned for a moment before throwing her head back in laughter. "Twice."

"What?"

Leah wipes away the tears of laughter from her eyes. "You've grown a backbone twice since we've met. Once when you attacked me, and just now. You think that's enough to intimidate me?" She steps forward, her finger in my face. "You pulled my fucking hair out, you crazy bitch. What do you think's gonna happen when we start sharing a room? I'm gonna fuck your mind up so bad they'll have to commit you. _Again_."

Stunned, I shrink back just as Sue enters the room. She glances between her daughter and me, her brow wrinkled.

"You girls okay?"

Leah's face relaxes, smoothing into a friendly smile. "Of course. Bella and I were just having a sisterly chat."

Smiling, Sue steps forward and wraps her arm around her daughter's shoulders, giving her a squeeze. "I'm so proud of you girls. Working things out between yourselves like adults."

 _What a dumbass._

No one's that damn gullible. Especially not an adult. Plus, I can see it in her eyes: the denial. She knows her daughter hates me. Possibly knows she torments me, and she chooses to overlook it, to condone it essentially.

How I've grown to hate Sue.

Forcing a fake smile is impossible. I look down at my socked feet. "It's late."

Sue looks at her watch, the one Charlie bought her for her birthday. "That it is. You better head home, Leah. I'll be home in a little while." Sue pats my shoulder, and it takes everything within me not to cringe. "Get you some rest, sweetie. We'll see you tomorrow."

Nodding, I hustle past her and bound upstairs. Charlie's rumbling snores from the recliner in the living room follow me to the second floor. I shut the door behind me, sink to the bedroom floor, and wait.

And wait.

And wait.

Sue doesn't leave right away. The low whine of Leah's car in the drive sounds to life, but Sue's grumbling engine doesn't roar until ten after eleven.

 _What the hell is she doing down there?_

I'm sweating like a marathon runner, standing at my bedroom window and watching her taillights until they fade in the distance. Then I dart downstairs, my sprint slowing as I notice Charlie still hasn't moved from his spot on the recliner.

Should I risk it? Sneaking out while he's not in bed?

He's never checked in on me at night. Not that I'm aware of, and why should he tonight? I've closed my bedroom door and have all the lights turned off.

Am I taking a risk by walking outside and leaving the kitchen door unlocked? If he wakes up surely he'll lock up for the night, leaving me trapped outside. And I have no idea where my house keys are. They're somewhere attached to my truck key, which is now parked in a garage for repair somewhere in the neighboring town.

The keys to Charlie's cruiser hang on a hook near the back door. Stealing them for a little while shouldn't be a problem, unless he locks up and notices they're missing. Would he ramble around the house looking for them? Wake me up and ask if I've seen them and freak once he notices me gone?

A normal kid would tell their father they're hanging out with the guy next door and not have to worry about sneaking around, but I've never been a normal kid. I've never mentioned boys to my father. Never had a boyfriend, or even hung out with someone of the opposite sex. I have no idea how he'd react, because I don't _know_ my father. Not really.

And what about Edward? If I don't show up he'll think I've vamped on him. I'm already ten … no, _twenty_ minutes late.

Instead of wasting the next ten minutes over-analyzing every little scenario that could take place, I leave Charlie in the living room and step into the kitchen to sneak out. Bridal magazine are scattered across the little table in the corner of the kitchen.

 _Sue must have been flipping through the magazines while I was waiting on her to leave._

I snatch the keys from the hook near the door and slip out into the night. There's a light mist in the air, but I haven't brought my raincoat. My brain's too frazzled to remember silly things like raincoats.

Climbing onto the empty picnic table, I check my watch. Twenty after eleven and I'm alone. A little ball of fear and disappointment wallows its way inside my belly, but I ignore it and try my best not to stare at his house. There are no lights on inside or outside the old, dilapidated house. Everything is quiet-like, weirdly quiet. No singsong of frogs, no trill of crickets, no droplets of rainwater splattering around. An odd sense of terror inches its way inside my chest, and I climb off the picnic table.

In my hurry to run home, I trip, muddying my hands and soaking my clothes in murky rainwater. Charlie's cruiser keys fly from my hand sometime during my graceless meeting with the grass. I never hear them hit the ground. Cursing, I push myself up on my hands and knees and crawl around in the darkness, patting all around me. Something silver glints underneath the moonlight. I reach for the keys, screaming at the sight of heavy black boots standing near them.


	4. Chapter 4

**Crowded**

 **4**

Someone laughs into the night. A harsh, cruel laugh encumbered with no fear of waking any adults. I try to stand, falling back onto my haunches and then my ass. The person bends, though not to help, but to snatch the keys from the ground and dangle them over my head.

"Looking for these?" My father's keys hang from the loop on his thumb.

I reach for them, gasping as he wraps his hand around my wrist and hauls me up from the ground. I land hard against his chest, my filthy clothes dirtying his tight gray shirt and jeans. If he cares he doesn't show it. One hand grasps my waist, touching the sliver of exposed skin between my shirt and jeans. The other hand still holds my wrist.

Instinctively, I step back, but he's having none of that. His fingers dig into the soft flesh above my ass, and a strange, hidden desire swells inside me. The sadistic grin on his face grows with the hardening of my nipples against his chest.

"Going somewhere, little little?"

 _Little little?_ I shake my head, not understanding the strange nickname, but something in the way he tightens his grip tells me he misinterprets the action.

Thunder claps overhead, and a light mist swirls around his face. Rainwater gathers on his skin, dripping from his forehead and down the slight bump in his nose. All his angles are sharp. Jarring. And his grin is charmingly devious, the kind of grin that makes girls do silly things.

"Where's your brother?"

Staring down at my lips, he ignores my question. "You shouldn't be out here alone."

"Why?"

Masen dips his head near my ear. His warm breath tickles my ear. "Bad things happen to girls in the dark."

His fingers dip underneath the back waistband of my jeans, touching the thin fabric below. Goose bumps erupt on my flesh, sending shivers quaking all over my body. This is the furthest I've gone with a guy and it's nothing. Nothing but a touch. It's nothing and everything.

The mist turns into a relentless rain.

Releasing a low, surprised squeal, I jerk away from him and toward my house, forgetting the keys. But once I'm standing under the eave of the house, I remember them and turn around, finding Masen still standing between his house and mine. He stares down at the keys and then looks at the cruiser in my driveway, his cocky grin growing wider. A hot flash of terror ricochets through me as he saunters to the car, ignoring my startled stare.

"What the—"

Without a glance in my direction, Masen unlocks the car and climbs inside. The tinted glass of the vehicle swallows him up, and I'm left alone again.

The kitchen light from the window nearby flickers on. Cupping one hand over my mouth, I strangle a gasp. Charlie's awake, puttering around inside. What if he decides to step outside and finds me hidden in the shadows, plastered against the house to avoid the rain?

The kitchen light goes off, and the deadbolt turns in the door. Terror seizes me. I'm trapped outside, my keys held hostage by Edward's weirdo brother. I cast a desperate glance in the direction of the boys' house.

 _Where in the hell is Edward?_

Charlie's light turns on overhead. I glance over to my bedroom window, waiting for the soft glow of my lamp to flicker on, but it doesn't. Seconds later, Charlie's light dims to a low glow, and I close my eyes, seeing him from behind my lids.

He's sitting up in bed with a couple pillows propped up behind him, reading the newspaper for the second or third time today. He'll read that paper until his eyes grow heavy and his glasses work their way down his bulbous nose. Then he'll yawn, stretch, fold the newspaper, set it aside on his nightstand, and fall asleep with the lamp still on and the covers not pulled back. I'll toss one of Granny's throws on top of him to knock off the chill once I'm back inside.

 _Back inside._

Opening my eyes, I glare at Charlie's cruiser. Masen is the only thing keeping me from going inside the warm safety of my home. I need those keys, but this guy, this weird guy freaks me out.

 _Why is he inside my dad's cruiser?_

As I'm thinking the word, the headlights flash on. The lights engulf my trembling, wet frame. Terrified, I cling to the side of the house. Thoughts of Charlie storming outside and demanding to know what's going on invade my mind. And how would I answer him? I snuck outside to hang out with the new neighbor, and his psychotic brother showed up instead? Stole the cruiser keys, and then the cruiser? Then what'll Charlie do? I've already crossed the line by attacking Leah. What if he reaches his limit with me? There's no going back to Arizona with Granny.

There's no other option besides getting those keys back.

Pushing myself off the building, I break into a run. The rain stings my face with each step I take and the growing wind pulls me back. My fingers grasp the passenger door handle and I wrench it open.

He's slumped in the driver's seat when I climb inside, the picture of impatience. Wet strands of bronze stand in disarray atop his head, and he blows out a sigh of heavy intolerance. Drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, he lolls his head to one side, watching as I pull the door shut behind me.

"'Bout time you showed up."

"What—what are you doing?" Teeth chattering, I grind them together against the chill. "Give me the keys."

Masen's eyes narrow, his never-ending smirk firmly fixed. He pretends to contemplate my words for a second, then twists the keys. "Nah. This is your fault, you know."

"What's my fault?"

Masen nods at the house. "You took too long. Forced me to cut the lights on. It coulda been easy, us stealing the cruiser and going for a little ride. I coulda parked it here later and no one would've noticed it'd ever moved. But you pushed me. Forced me to wake up the old man."

The engine roars to life. A little thrill of horror heats my chest. Charlie's silhouette passes in front of the lamp in his bedroom. I clamber for the door handle, but it's too late. Masen shifts into reverse and guns the engine. Rocks from the drive spray the air in gentle arches of pea gravel that pepper the side of my house and front porch. The car's still reversing down the little road when he shifts into drive, jerking us forward.

We spin down the wet roads, Masen laughing at my terrified screams. I grapple for the seat belt, my hands too shaky to secure the metal pieces. Masen takes an easy left down a dead-end road, never slowing down. The car tilts to the right, and I squeeze my eyes shut, knowing I'm going to die.

"Death is easy," he says, seeming to read my thoughts. "Press the gas too hard, take too sharp of a turn. Press the razor down too deep." He eyes the scars on my wrists. My fingers are wrapped around the useless seat belt I've somehow strapped across my torso. "Why are you crying?"

Masen slows the car down the dead-end road. There's an overgrown path off the side, partly hidden by dense brush. He eases the cruiser down the path. The tires slide on the slick grass and weeds, but the car doesn't stall or slow down.

"Why am I crying?" I don't realize I am. I scrub my face, wiping away the tears. The rapid pulse of my heart has slowed from an erratic pace to a more steady one now that we're not speeding down the road. "I'm crying because you scared me."

"Why were you scared?"

"Because you stole Charlie's cruiser! Because you nearly flipped the car over!"

Masen slows the car to a stop and flips off the lights. He cuts the engine, and we're encased in darkness. The drum of my heart speeds up again when he turns his head to stare at me. We might as well be back on two wheels.

"Why do you call him Charlie?"

Not the question I expected. "Because … I don't know him that well. I lived with my mother most of my life and wasn't around my father often." Flustered with the chit-chat, I clasp the safety belt tighter in my hands. "Why in the hell did you steal the cruiser? You know we're both going to jail, right? When the chief finds out …"

Masen snickers. "You really think that? You think your dad's gonna report his cruiser stolen and his unstable daughter missing? Get the whole town in an uproar only to find out you went for a little joyride? You think he's gonna risk his job and reputation over something like that?" Masen relaxes against the seat, his head tilted back. "He's probably pacing the living room right now, checking the window every couple minutes, and waiting on you to pull up."

"This is all on you"—I release my grasp on the seat belt and fumble for the door handle—"you crazy mother fucker."

Masen hits the door lock button and leans across the seat. He grabs my flailing arms as I attempt to fight him off. He peers into my eyes, and suddenly lets go. A disappointed chuckle fills the stifled air inside the car.

"No wonder Edward won't stop talking about you." He reaches for the keys, turning the engine. "You're a fucking bore just like him."

I let loose of the door handle. "I'm not a bore."

Masen puts the car in reverse and eases down the narrow path. "Yeah, you're a bore. This is probably the most badass thing you've ever done in your life, and you're already scared shitless and ready to bail."

Hot anger washes over me, knocking any hint of a chill away. "I'm not a bore."

Masen slows the car to a stop, staring at me. He shifts into park. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Nodding, a hint of a smile twists on his lips. "Fine, prove it."

"H-how?"

"Get behind the wheel."


	5. Chapter 5

**Crowded**

 **5**

Forks is dead. Quiet. No flash of blue lights chasing me down the sleepy streets. No bounce of headlights on the roads as people search for a missing girl and a stolen cruiser.

I take us to the cliffs overlooking the ocean. I park the car a little too close to the edge and cut the engine. Masen follows me to the front of the car and hoists himself on the hood.

"Sometimes I come out here and watch the cliff divers jump." I climb on the hood beside him, careful not to dent the metal.

Masen folds his arms behind him, one leg bent at the knee. "You ever thought of jumping?"

"Yeah, a million times."

"So why haven't you?"

"Drowning," I whisper. "The thought of drowning terrifies me."

"You're a scared thing, little little." Masen props himself on one elbow, scanning my face. "For someone who's tried to kill herself."

I pull the sleeves of my hoodie down, covering my scars. "People say death is peaceful. But I say it all depends on how you choose to die. Sucking in lungfuls of water while struggling to breathe doesn't sound like the way to go."

"But that jump though." Masen sits up, staring over the cliff's edge. "That jump's almost worth it."

"You've been cliff diving before?"

Masen snickers. "Of course."

"How does it feel? The falling and crashing?" Sucking in a ragged breath, I quiver at the thought. "I bet it's exhilarating."

Masen stares at me for a long time. The rain has been long gone, but lightning still haunts the skies. It brightens the low-lying gray clouds over the ocean, highlighting his face with each jolt.

"I can show you how it feels to fall and crash, without taking a single step off that cliff." His voice is soft but tight. There's a dark wickedness to his vibrant green eyes.

My head screams to remain silent, but my mouth opens against my own will. "How?"

The stern line of Masen's mouth quirks at one side. His gaze flickers over my body, now sprawled atop the hood of my father's car.

"Unbutton your jeans and I'll show you."

Heat consumes me, the heat of embarrassment, but another kind of heat burns deep inside my belly.

"I know that little pussy of yours is throbbing." He makes no move, simply smirking at my discomfort. "Screaming for some friction."

"Whatever." Not the most intelligent response. I sit up on the hood, and the very spot he's speaking of rubs the metal below. I bite my bottom lip at the pressure and hoist my jelly-like legs over the side of the car. "Adventure's over. Time to go home." But I don't move.

"Sad little girls like you are always looking for some dick," he says, turning my stomach. "You're either the biggest slut in Forks, or a virgin wishing she were."

I say nothing, my face growing warmer. He continues.

"I bet you fingered yourself thinking about Edward meeting you tonight." He chuckles at my horrified expression. "Bet you fantasized about him fucking you until you couldn't walk. No wonder you looked so disappointed when it was me tonight instead of him."

I can't believe the audacity of this guy. "You can't talk to me like that."

Masen laughs and slides off the side of the car. He walks around the front and props himself against the car beside me. "I'm not insulting you, little little. Just telling you how it is. You and I aren't so different. You think you're the only one who gets sad? You think you're the only one constantly craving someone's touch?"

"You don't look like the kind of guy who has a problem finding someone to touch you." There's a bitter bite to my words. I expect him to chuckle, to cockily agree, but he's strangely solemn.

"You don't know shit about me."

"I know what I see," I reply. "I see a hot guy who has no problem being a badass. I see a guy with no qualms about trying to fuck a girl he doesn't even know."

"And I see a girl tired of living in a fucking box." He drags his fingers through his hair. "And maybe you don't realize it, but when you look at me it's like you're begging for a release."

He's right. I've been living in a virtual box of sadness and uncertainty, encumbered by my own doubts and insecurities.

Masen turns to face me, one hand resting on the hood of the car. With unsteady hands, I reach down, popping open the button of my jeans and pulling down the zipper. I take his free hand and place it on my lower belly. My skin jerks with the touch. I stare up at him, swallowing with the knowing, triumphant gloat in his eyes.

"So release me then."

Masen's face grows solemn again. His hand travels lower, the middle one dipping between my lips and discovering my clit. My knees buckle at his touch against the tingling nub. He fixates on the area, dragging his finger in tight circles around the head.

"You're lucky, you know?" He tugs down my jeans to my knees with his free hand, still working my clit with the other. "Most guys would finger and fuck you, not giving a damn if you get off. But I'm gonna make you come, Bella. I'm gonna make you come so hard your clit'll still be twitching tomorrow."

"Oh God."

My ass hits the cold metal of the cruiser as he applies more pressure between my legs. He runs his fingers up the base of my neck and wraps my hair around his hand, tugging my head back. Sharp pinpricks of pain stab my scalp, and I yelp. He captures my clit between two fingers, toying with the bud before delving lower. He curls his long fingers inside me, deep and without hesitation.

Something tears inside me, and I'm blinded by an instant, burning pain that nearly brings me to my knees. He shushes my cries, his mouth close to my ear, and continues to finger me at a deep, slow pace. Panic buds, and I wonder if I were to say no, would he stop?

Before I can say the word, he hoists me atop the cruiser. Tears blind my eyes and my hands land splayed open, useless against the hood. He raises my legs until my knees are nearly touching my chest. My jeans are in a bunch around them, and I tilt my head back. Disbelief and moonlight wash over me, and I'm doing this. I'm really doing this. I'm really lying here on the hood of my father's cruiser with my ass on full display.

And then his fingers are inside me again, deliciously stretching me. Pain intermingles with desire, and a growing wave of want crashes inside me.

Something hot and wet flickers against my clit, and I know it's not Masen's fingers. He moans against me. The sound vibrates through my body, and all I can think about is the blood. The virgin blood, and how can he enjoy this? The licking and the taste of myself coating his tongue.

But then I don't care. The flicker of his tongue again and again brings an exhilaration thrilling through my bones. I close my eyes and fall, plunging with each stroke of his finger and the slight suction of his mouth around my clit.

The thunder doesn't drown out the sound of his zipper releasing. A moment of doubt niggles my brain, exalting at the friction of his swollen head dragging across my sensitive flesh.

"Most girls don't come the first time, but you will. You're gonna come for me, little little."

He's looking at me. Looking at me, his cock prying me apart inch by delicious inch. He touches my clit with his thumb, pressing solidly against it, and I cry out. With one smooth jerk of his hips, he's fully encased inside me. He doesn't give my body time to adjust before pulling out and flexing his hips again. Our flesh meets in a satisfying smack. The sound is familiar. It's the sound that reminds me of my mother when I was young, and the endless string of men she'd allow inside our home when her fiancé was out at work. I heard them through the thin walls as they fucked her, her erotic screams keeping me up at night.

A moment of discomfort swirls inside me, but it's shattered with the shift of his hips. He whispers my name, drawing me from the dark place I sometimes dwell. Pushing my knees higher, and now firmly against my chest, he fucks me harder, and a quell builds in my belly each time he deeply enters me. My hips rise, craving more and more until the quell transforms into the storm that's threatening in the distance, and then I'm falling. And it's delightful and hideous and I don't know how I've lived seventeen years without the sensation of his cock pulsing inside me, and I don't know how I'll ever live without it again.

Masen stills against me, his battered breaths filling the air. I stare at the open sky, searching for the stars hidden behind the clouds and waiting on the inevitable uncomfortable post-one-night-stand conversation, but it doesn't come. His cock softens inside me as he grabs my foot, removing my sneaker and tossing it aside.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Masen peels my sock off, frowning. "What, you think I'm done?"

I gape at him. "You're not?"

Snickering, he removes my remaining sneaker, sock, and pulls my jeans and underwear from the tangle near my knees. Taking my elbow, he helps me sit up, then pushes the hoodie from my shoulders. Embarrassingly enough, something warm and wet pools between my legs and onto the car.

"What are you doing?"

"Taking off your clothes."

He doesn't look me in the eyes. Just yanks off my hoodie and tugs my shirt over my chest. I oblige, raising my arms for him to remove it. He tosses it over one shoulder and cups my breasts. Shoving his thumbs under the cups, he grazes my nipples, encircling them. That familiar quell rises again inside me. I reach behind me, unhooking my bra and dragging it down my arms.

"You see that boulder over there?" He's still not looking at my face. He pinches my nipples, watching his fingers pull and tug as they harden under his touch.

I glance at the jagged boulder protruding from the ground and nod. The boulder is waist-high, and dangerously close to the edge of the cliff.

"I want you to walk over to that boulder, sit on top, and spread open your legs wide for me."

A little jolt of anticipation jumps inside me. He shucks off his boots and the jeans from around his ankles. Before I can stand, he pulls his shirt off and swipes it between my legs, wiping away the majority of the sticky mess we made. The rough fabric causes me to whimper in pain, along with the thought of him fucking me again.

"Don't worry," he whispers, a strange glint in his eyes. "This time I'll be gentle."

He watches me walk to the boulder. Smirks at the clumsy way I climb on top. I do as he says, spreading my legs and waiting for him to join me. Lying on the police car, I didn't have a good view of him naked, but now I do. He crosses the distance between us, one hand stroking the elongated shaft of his cock. How he ever got that thing to fit inside me I don't know, but that budding desire continues to swell.

Once he's standing between my legs, he pushes my chest until my back lands against the boulder. Horror flutters inside my chest. We're so close to the edge, close enough to topple over. My hair slaps the rocks and my head lolls over the side. Nothing but the ocean is in my view. The ocean and the strange, blurry moon swelling in the distance. I feel his wet tongue between my legs again, and his satisfied moans. Rocks jab my skin, scratching my back, my ass, my legs, but I don't care. I crave the pain. Crave anything other than the monotony of my life.

I come again without much coaxing. Come without his fingers or cock inside me. Come against his probing tongue and sated moans.

And then I'm falling, but it's not the fall of an orgasmic high caused by the stranger next door. I'm falling off the boulder, grappling at the rock and searching for Masen's face. But he's not there. I'm alone, naked, and sore, and I'm falling a hundred feet. Maybe more. Falling into the ocean and exploring my greatest fear.

Drowning.


	6. Chapter 6

**Crowded**

 **6**

I've never been a stranger to pain.

Leaving my father behind when I was a kid was painful. Watching him stand on the porch, stoic and unmoving, as I waved and waved from behind the dusty back glass of my mom's old station wagon gutted me. The physical distance gutted me. Miles and miles of distance. Years and years of disconnect.

How had he allowed her to take me away from him? To let her run off to Arizona with nothing? No money, no education, no job experience. Nothing but her desperation to fuck any guy who came along.

She was a good mother when it suited her. She took me to the zoo, took me on vacations when we could actually afford to road-trip, but even Phil couldn't change her, couldn't turn her from her old ways.

It's my fault she died.

I'd known about her cheating on Phil, and I hated her for it. She'd cheated on my father when they were married. Drove a wedge of resentment and hate between the happy family they'd created.

Then she met Phil.

The endless string of men stopped. She focused more on me instead of herself, and seemed to want to become a family, a real family, once again. When Phil asked for her hand in marriage and she accepted, I was ecstatic.

A few months after the proposal, Mom took me dress shopping. I tried on a ridiculous-looking dress, and she came out wearing her wedding white. She stood in front of the mirrors, smoothing the wrinkleless skirt, and then she froze, the color draining from her face. Life sapping from her eyes. Something about seeing herself in that mirror did her in.

She began fucking other men in the evenings while Phil was at work. I could hear her fucking in the adjoining room. Grunting and screaming, and that slap, slap, slap of skin against skin, making no secret of what she was doing, because Renee Swan was never one to keep a secret from her daughter. From everyone else, but not her daughter.

And so I told him. Told him one morning when he walked in from work. Told him before he walked into the bedroom and smelled the freshly-laundered bed sheets. I told him.

And a few days later he killed her.

The pain of losing a parent is a different kind of pain. It isn't anything like the pain I feel now. The pain of loss is a deep one, an internal, devouring thing.

The pain I feel now is cutting. Salty and sore. Tight and blinding, and maybe I am blind. My eyes seem glued shut. There's little strength to open them.

"She's beginning to rouse," an unfamiliar voice says. The voice is male and gray with age.

I try to tilt my head toward the sound, straining my ears, but my body doesn't move.

"How long until I can take her home?" I know that voice. It's the voice of my father.

"That's a tricky question." The more gravelly voice sucks in a breath. "And it entirely depends on the information she gives us."

The two voices grow silent, and I fight to open my eyes, to show my father and his unknown cohort that I'm okay and ready to go home, but exhaustion overtakes me. I fall into a deep sleep.

oOo

When I finally awaken, it's nighttime, and I'm lying in a hospital bed.

The room is quiet, lit only by the silent television bolted against one wall and the glow of the IV machine to my left. Clear liquid drips from a bag hanging from the machine and into the tubing secured with tape in the bend of my elbow. An oxygen tube is connected from an outlet in the wall, draped over my ears. Little nubbins shoot oxygen into my nose.

I push myself up on my elbows but grow breathless with the simple action. I fall back onto the pillow, fighting for my breath. My chest is heavy. Tight. Like the Hulk himself has his massive hands wrapped around my lungs, choking the air out.

I reach for a newspaper someone's left on my bedside table, fumbling with the pages and trying to only move my arms. The date screams at me in bold, black letters on the front page, but I don't believe it. The last thing I remember is fighting with Leah, but that was days ago. What happened? Did she hurt me enough to land me in the hospital? Have I been unconscious since then?

The door creaks open. A wedge of light enters the room, beginning as a tiny triangle and growing until the fluorescents in the hallway light the four walls. A young nurse enters, her jaws working the gum in her mouth. She hums to herself, paying me no attention as she snaps on a pair of gloves and grabs a urinal from the bathroom. She walks over to my bed, still humming, and stoops over. I glance over the side of the bed at the bag of bright yellow pee and give a little yelp of surprise.

The nurse stumbles back. "Jesus Christ, kid." She places one gloved hand over her heart. "You scared the shit out of me."

Pee shoots out from a little port on the side of the bag. The nurse curses, low and quiet, and shoots me an apologetic smile as she grabs the port and releases what's left of the urine into the urinal.

"Sorry about the mess, and the cussing. You've been unconscious for a few days. Guess I got accustomed to working with a mute."

A mute? My head hits the pillow and I stare up at the tiled ceiling. I've been a mute for the past few days. Been a mute for the past few years, really. Living in this little box grows tiresome.

Little box?

A hint of a memory eats away at my brain. The words are so familiar, yet I can't establish where I've heard them before. Something tells me they're important. They'll tell me why I'm here.

"Why I'm here," I whisper.

"Huh?" The nurse stands straight and heads for the bathroom. Urine splashes into the toilet water, and then the sink turns over. "Did you ask why you're here?"

"Yeah." I shake my head, giving up on the memory. "Why am I here?"

The water turns off and paper towels are ripped from a dispenser. Her voice echoes in against the bathroom walls. "You don't remember?"

"No."

The nurse steps from the bathroom and leans against the wall. She crosses her arms over her chest and smiles. She's wearing cheery, baggy scrubs to cover her pudgy waistline. Her lipstick is too red and her eye makeup too loud, giving her the appearance of an overweight clown.

"You stole your dad's cop car, kid." Her smile grows, showing her teeth. The smile is almost appreciating. Impressed. "And then you went cliff diving. Naked."

Her claim is so ridiculous I burst into laughter, which quickly turns into a coughing fit. Somehow I manage to choke out the words. "I'd never steal a car, or jump off a cliff."

The nurse's admiration turns into annoyance. She narrows her eyes and frowns. "You tellin' me someone broke into your house, stole your Daddy's keys, took you to the cliffs, and tossed you over the side?"

Laughter dying away, I grasp to comprehend her words. Surely she's not serious. I fell off a cliff? No wonder the pain blinded me so much the day I heard Charlie's voice.

Breaking my gaze from the unconvinced woman, I glance back down at the arm where the IV is secured. The skin is clean, with minimal bruising. Just a shade of purple and blue here and there where it looks like someone drew blood or maybe blew a vein. Slowly, I pull the sheet back from my body and toss it over my legs. My hospital gown is wadded up near my hips. Dark bruises and scratches cover my legs. I lift the gown. More bruising darkens my hips, my thighs. I feel the sting of injuries on my back. The cuts are superficial and jagged. Like I've been stoned with rocks.

 _Rocks._

A gray boulder looms in the distance of my mind, but it's washed away with the tide of today.


	7. Chapter 7

**Crowded**

 **7**

Charlie doesn't believe me, and neither does my doctor.

Charlie's disbelief hurts the worst.

Dr. Grady places his stethoscope over the place where I supposedly have a heart. "And you have no memory of what happened the night you were found on the beach?"

Found on the beach. That's what happened to me. A boy not much older than me saw me fall from the cliff. He was out night surfing and swam his way to where I'd fallen from the cliff. The boy was unable to find me at first, so he swam back to the beach to call for help. And there I was, half in the water, half on the sand. They say it's a miracle I'm alive.

Doesn't feel like a miracle. Feels like death. And not the sweet, instantaneous death that releases one from the agony of existing in a cruel world, but the torturous, excruciating death. The kind of death I find unwelcoming.

"How many times do I have to say it? I don't remember anything about that night." My voice still comes out raspy. Sore.

Dr. Grady sighs and removes the stethoscope from his ears. He drapes it around his neck and gives me a leveling stare. "You're not just telling me this to avoid a one-way ticket to Behavioral Health?"

Charlie shifts on the chair adjacent to my hospital bed. He stares out the window at the cloudy gray sky.

I'm tired of the clouds, and the gray, and the disappointment and disbelief on my father's face. Why does my life have to be void of joy? Why couldn't I have been born to someone else? In another situation, in a happier time?

Life sucks.

"I'm telling the truth, but if you want to send me, send me." I pull the covers up to my chin, wishing I could disappear. "I'm tired of repeating myself."

Dr. Grady's voice softens. "Bella, it's not that we don't want to believe you. We do. But you have to admit, with your history of suicide attempts—"

Tears of shame gather in the corners of my eyes. This man, these people in this hospital know about my history, and there's only one way anyone in this town could know.

I stare at Charlie, hoping he feels the hate and accusation thrown his way.

Charlie clears his throat and avoids my gaze. "You giving her the okay to go home or not, Doc?"

Dr. Grady sighs and scrubs his wrinkled forehead. "There's no reason to keep her here. Her lung function has improved. I'll write her a prescription for some antibiotics to treat the pneumonia at home, but if for any reason you need to return to the hospital …" He gives me a stern stare. "And you need to follow up with me in a couple weeks." He reaches into the deep pocket of his lab coat and passes me a card. "And also follow up with her. She's a friend of mine. I think you'll like her."

"Dr. Angela Cheney, board certified psychiatrist," I read aloud.

Great, the guy still thinks I'm a kook.

oOo

We leave the hospital later that day, or evening, really. On the cusp of nighttime. Charlie parks the cruiser and pockets the keys, shooting me a hesitant glance. Sighing, I wrench open the passenger door and climb out of the vehicle. He meets me on my side of the car, his hands fluttering uselessly around in an attempt to help me walk.

"Don't worry, I've got it."

Nodding, he walks beside me up the driveway, only leaving my side to unlock the front door and hold it open for me.

Only when I'm tucked safely under the covers of my bed am I able to ponder over the events of the last few days. I haven't lied to Charlie or the doctor. I have no memory of anything that's happened since the night I attacked Leah in my bedroom. Only bits and pieces of obscure images flash through my mind from time to time: the grayness of the sky above a stormy ocean, the jut of rock digging into my back, a shade of vibrant green that just won't go away until the color narrows and blurs, transforming into two intense orbs, two black dots centered in the midst.

Eyes. Someone's eyes.

Sleep evades me. Each time I close my eyes I'm greeted with that shade of green, not the darkness I crave. The room is quiet. Too quiet. I climb out of bed and walk to the window, working the glass from the sill until it springs open.

A light flickers on next door, and quick bursts of images strike me. The memory of waiting for Edward, and Masen finding me instead. Masen taking Charlie's keys. Masen stealing the car. Masen touching me, fingering me, fucking me on the cruiser, on the boulder. And then falling into darkness.

I can show you how it feels to fall and crash, without taking a single step off that cliff.

The doctor told me a boy found me while he was out surfing, but never went into any details about the guy. Was it Masen? Had I fallen from the edge of the cliff and he went in after me? Told the hospital staff that he found me to avoid any responsibility in stealing Charlie's car?

And then a little nagging question assaults me. As much as I try to shove it away, it continues to goad my mind.

Did he push me?

oOo

Everyone in school knows what happens, but no one says a word, at least not to my face.

I shuffle from class to class, my head down, my hoodie up to hide me. Walking is torment. The superficial cuts scattered on my back and legs continue to heal. They pucker and pull and itch, which Dr. Grady claims is part of the normal healing process.

Charlie has been quiet since the incident, and Sue tiptoes around me like I'll explode if she says a word. Leah remains the only one unchanged, her and her vainglorious smirk.

A week crawls by like an inchworm going for a mile. I can't breathe again until classes end on Friday and I'm no longer forced to avoid the meddlesome stares of my peers.

Once school ends and we're released from the conformity of classes, I walk to the lot and climb into my old truck. Charlie returned my vehicle after I recouped from my hospital stay. He acted a little leery when he handed me my keys. Must have wondered if I'd drive the old rust bucket off a nearby cliff.

I'm about a mile from home when I spot a familiar mop of tousled bronze hair. He's walking down the sidewalk, his head lowered, hands deep in his pockets. There's a pair of earbuds in his ears, the wires snaking down to a pocket in his hoodie. He doesn't hear the rumble of my engine or notice me. Not until I nose slightly ahead of him and park the truck on the side of the road.

He comes to an abrupt stop on the sidewalk. Dark circles encase his eyes, and the smile he wore the first night we met is nowhere to be found. My chest tightens with the expression on his face. Did he hear what happened? Did Masen tell him? Does he absolutely loathe me now?

He hesitates before opening the door, and I wish I hadn't stopped. I haven't seen him or his brother since I fell off the cliff … or was pushed. Whichever. Whatever. I shake my head to dull the thought.

Edward climbs into the cab and cups his hands over the vent. Hot air streams out of the old truck. The vehicle is older than my father, but it's got a hell of a heater.

"Did you hear what happened?" I say it because it needs saying. Because I need to know. "Did Masen tell you?"

"Tell me what, Bella?" Edward stares at his cupped hands, animosity dripping from his voice. "That you slept with him the first night you met?"

"It's really none of your business," I whisper.

Edward sighs, meeting my eyes for the first time since he climbed into the cab. "Yeah, you're right. It's not. It's just … I hate seeing someone get tangled in his web, you know?"

I shake my head. "No, I don't know."

Edward's forehead wrinkles in thought. "No, I guess you don't."

Anticipation gnaws at me. "Tell me."

He leans back against the bucket seat and stares up at the ripped and stained ceiling of the truck. "Masen's a destroyer, Bella. He destroys things. People, relationships." He turns his head to stare out the passenger window. "Especially when it comes to me."

"What do you mean?"

"Masen's always been jealous of me." Edward turns to face me. "He tries to sabotage any sliver of happiness in my life."

"And that includes me? We barely met."

Edward nods. "He saw how excited I was after the first night I met you. We've moved around a lot in our lives. From one town to another, shifted around before we can even plant roots. It's … difficult for me to meet new people." Edward blows out a shaky breath. "I'm not like my brother. I'm not an outgoing person. Hell, the night I walked outside to meet you was the first time I've approached a girl in almost a year."

"Really? I couldn't tell by the way you put your hand over my mouth and nearly gave me a heart attack."

Edward lets out a low laugh. "Yeah, that was unusual for me. Like I said, I didn't want to wake your dad."

"Your brother wasn't so worried about waking anyone up." I frown. "What exactly did Masen tell you about that night?"

Edward shifts in his seat, his brief smile melting away. "You don't want to know."

"Actually, I do." A headache pricks my temples. "The doctor says I'm suffering from temporary amnesia. Only bits and pieces are coming back to me."

His eyebrows bunch together and he shakes his head. "He told me the two of you went for a swim, but the way he said it I could tell the two of you were stroking way more than the water. How the hell did you end up with amnesia?"

"Went for a swim?" A shudder ripples its way through me. "He told you that?"

"Well, yeah." Edward shrugs but doesn't meet my eyes. "You're right, it's none of my business what you do or who you do it with, but amnesia? Really?"

Before I'm able to respond, he opens the door and skulks outside. I watch him walk down the sidewalk until he disappears from my sight, his shoulders hunkered against the rain.


	8. Chapter 8

**Crowded**

 **8**

Instead of spending a quiet Saturday in the solitude of my bedroom, Sue demands my attention at the one dress shop in Forks. She and her daughter take turns squealing over bridesmaid dresses while I stand off to the side, working my thumb through the holes in my hoodie.

"What do you think about this one, Bella?" Sue holds up a slinky dress the color of Pepto Bismol. Speaking of which, I suddenly feel the need to throw up.

"I thought you'd decided on yellow."

"No," Leah pipes up. "Mother said you were worried it'd wash you out. So she changed her mind about the color." She gives me a sickeningly sweet smile. "Anything to placate poor, little Bella."

"Leah," Sue whispers.

Leah rolls her eyes and removes a pastel yellow dress from the rack. She holds it against her, and the contrast of the fabric against her dark skin is striking. No wonder she's bitter about changing the color. The dress looks fabulous against her.

"You look really pretty, Leah." I don't know what makes me say it, but I do.

Snorting, she puts the dress back on the rack. "Yeah, right."

Sue beams at me and squeezes her daughter's shoulder. "Bella's right. You look gorgeous, honey."

A sales associate calls Sue over to try on another dress. Once she's out of earshot, Leah turns on one heel and gives me a lethal sneer.

"Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Pretend to be nice to me in front of my mom."

"I'm not pretending."

Leah's glare doesn't waver. "Whatever, you crazy fuck." She turns her attention back to the dresses and thumbs her way through. "I wish you'd died when you jumped off that cliff."

Before her words have a chance to sink in, Sue's standing beside me, a long, flowing dress pressed against her. The dress reminds me of the one my mother tried on in the dress shop prior to her death, and for a moment Leah's wish is also my own.

oOo

The pounding of the rain pelting my bedroom window drums along with the throbbing inside my head. The events of the day, and Leah's words, keep playing in my mind. Not for the first time today, I contemplate ending it all.

The rain seems to agree with my thoughts. It taps each word in my brain like the punctuation on the end of each sentence.

Life would be better without me in it.

 _Tap._

This untiring pain I feel deep inside my soul would end.

 _Tap._

There'd be no more sadness, no more guilt weighing me down.

 _Tap. Tap. Tap._

The rapid persistence of taps draws me from the bed. Heart racing, I stand beside my window and brush the curtains aside.

At first I see and hear nothing aside from the rain. Lightning flashes overhead, casting a soft glow on the sodden lawn for a moment before it's concealed in darkness once more. But in that burning second of light, I see him standing at the base of the old tree underneath my window.

He's staring up at me from the shadows, the night and his hoodie veiling part of his face, but I know it's Masen. The intensity of his stare, the curl of his lips as I stand trembling behind the curtains help distinguish his face from that of his twin.

I back away from the window until the backs of my knees hit the bed. The jarring motion of the wood hitting my flesh blinds me with a sudden fear, as though the wood itself is Masen. I grab the bedpost and press one hand against my heart, willing away the rapid strum until it slows to a more steady pulse. But the fear doesn't diminish. If anything, it rises inside me until it's lodged in my throat, choking out any ability I have to breathe.

The thunder rumbling overhead triggers me to move. I dart to my bedroom door and turn the lock with trembling fingers. Pressing my forehead against the wood, I laugh at myself.

What's he gonna do? Break into the house and finish you off while Charlie's snoozing in the next room?

A distinct sound behind me forces me to swallow my laughter in one long gasp. The sound is one of old metal against metal. A sound of the wind and the rain and the crash of thunder growing louder. Cold air rushes into the room, breathing up my legs from below the old T-shirt I wear, the one bearing the name of a band from the last concert Renee and I attended together just days before she passed.

Days before I indirectly killed her.

Too terrified to turn around, I close my eyes, focusing on the point in the center of my forehead pressed against the wooden door. Maybe if I close my eyes long enough this won't be real. He won't be in my room, crossing the distance between me and the window. He won't be standing behind me, soaking wet from the rain.

"Bella."

The whispering of my name from behind me awakens a shudder. It ripples through me, raising the hairs on the back of my neck and curling my stomach. I try to keep my eyes closed, but it's as though his voice controls my body. Makes me do the things I know I shouldn't do. I look over my shoulder at him, and then down at the growing puddle of water dripping from his clothes, puddling around my feet.

"Ignoring me won't help. I'll never leave."

He moves my hair off my right shoulder. His fingers brush against my neck. The trembling grows, building up until I feel the need to burst.

"Don't scream. We wouldn't want to wake Charlie."

"You tried to kill me," I whisper.

Masen chuckles and places his hands on my hips. He leans into me. The wetness of his clothes saturate my body. His grip tightens until his fingertips are digging into my skin. He bunches the fabric of my short tee in his hands, the hem skimming the top of my thighs until it reaches above my abdomen. He dips his fingers underneath my underwear, no hesitation as he finds my clit.

"Are you afraid of me?"

His fingers enter me, driving out a resounding moan from inside my chest. He fingers me hard, grunting with each deep jab. I grow wetter, and my body burns hot with embarrassment. I should scream. I should fight this boy away, but instead, I ride his fingers until they're replaced with his cock.

This time I do scream, and he responds by cupping his hand over my mouth.

"Shhh." He stills inside me, and his cock twitches, begging for friction. "If your daddy wakes up and finds us, you won't get to come, and I know you want to come, little little. Don't you want to come?"

His hand remains gripped tightly over my mouth, so I nod in response. We both stand unmoving for a moment, listening for the sound of Charlie's heavy footfalls, but there's nothing other than repetitive, undisturbed snores floating down the hallway.

Masen's hand drifts from my mouth to my throat, the other snaking around until his fingers find my clit. He moves again, withdrawing and then forcefully flexing his hips up against me until the sound of Charlie's snores are replaced with the sound of skin against skin. His grip on my throat tightens, cutting off the gasping rush of air. Tiny pinpricks of white light flash in front of my eyes, but they're soon replaced with an engulfing darkness. I feel myself falling again, succumbing to darkness.

When I awaken, I'm in my bed, naked and sore. He's beside me, lying on his side with one hand propped against his head, the other between my legs. He watches the movement of his fingers gliding in and out.

"We all have demons, you know?" he says, still avoiding my stare. "Mine is cutting. Cutting and fucking. But you wanna know something? I've never done them both at the same time."

"No," I whisper, knowing what he wants from me.

"Yes." His middle finger enters me, swirling around once it's inside. "You know you want to. You've been thinking about it all day. You've been thinking of cutting those sweet little wrists of yours again. Bleeding out the pain until there's no more."

"How … how do you know that?" Tears prick my eyes, but my traitorous body doesn't recoil. My hips rise and fall as he shallowly fucks me with his fingers. The mattress below us creaks, and I'm sickened with myself, with my inability to tell this monster no.

"Because I know you, Bella. Know you better than you know yourself."

"You are trying to kill me." I think I say it, but the words are garbled.

Tears have found their way to my face and emotions have thickened my throat, or so I believe, but no. It's him. He rolls on top of me, nudging my legs farther apart until he's completely inside.

I let him fuck me again, blinded by the tightness of his hands around my throat. Once I'm teetering on the edge of darkness, his hands move away from my neck. The flex of his hips snapping against my body slows to a delirious rhythm. I close my eyes. Feel his body stretching and reaching until my hands are bound by one of his.

Then an old reminder of who I once was enters the room as he slits my wrists. I open my eyes and scream like I should, like a human is programmed to do, but he doesn't recoil. Grinning over me, he juts his hips upward in a frantic rush, fucking me while I bleed all over the purple comforter my dad bought when I first moved here. Fucking me until Charlie's pounding on the door and rattling the doorknob in his hand. And when the darkness comes to embrace me, I allow it. Floating away on the euphoria of orgasm and a new, painless existence.

Or non-existence, I suppose.

oOo

Death doesn't become of me.

This is the conclusion I reach when I wake up in the hospital for the second time in two weeks. Prying open my blurry eyes, I glance around the hospital room and sigh. Things are different this time. I have more traces of memory. Masen's steely grin and the welcoming release of blood from my veins invade my mind as soon as I open my dreary eyes.

Charlie stands near the window of the hospital room. He stares into the cloudless sky, a thoughtful expression on his face. I've awoken to a rare sunny day it seems, and I wish it held some meaning for me. Some sort of semblance for a new, better life. But my head is still heavy, not one ray of shiny hope glinting into my brain.

When Charlie turns away from the window, I pretend I'm still asleep.


	9. Chapter 9

**Crowded**

 **9**

"Do you know why I'm here, Bella?"

Dr. Angela Cheney adjusts the glasses perched on the long bridge of her nose. She's a persistent wisp of a woman with stick-straight brown hair and hazel eyes. She sits at my bedside, the same place my father's been frequenting the past couple days I've been stuck inside the four gray walls of my hospital room. Unlike Charlie, she's unfazed by my muteness, or the dogged determination I have to avoid eye contact with her.

She smoothes the skirt of her navy dress set. "I'm here because of the incident that occurred Saturday night."

Blah, blah, blah. Same thing she's been saying for two days. Of course she's here because of the "incident" that occurred Saturday night. Why else would she be here?

Dr. Cheney shifts in her chair. "I'm here to help you. To discuss the issues you're having and guide you to a better way of understanding and coping with them."

Issues? Is that what I'm having? Issues? Narrowing my eyes, I glare at the wall.

"Your father tells me you hold a lot of guilt over the death of your mother." Dr. Cheney's voice softens to a sympathetic whisper. "Trauma can cause us to do things we wouldn't normally do, such as self-harm."

Dr. Cheney's assumption of my state of mind pisses me off, and a familiar stubbornness I once had bashes its way from my mouth. "I didn't self-harm."

The good doctor perks up. She grabs her pen and pad of paper from the bedside table and perches the pad on her lap. "The cuts on your wrists … they weren't caused by you?"

I hate the anxious relief saturating her voice. Hate giving her the information she's paid to retrieve, but I'm tired. Not physically, but mentally tired of this person I've become.

"No, I didn't slit my wrists." Clearing my throat, I glance down at the gauze wrapped around my arms.

Cheney scribbles something in her little notebook. "You mean you didn't intentionally slit your wrists? Did you have an accident and cut yourself?"

"No, I didn't have an accident and cut myself." Sighing, I full-on stare at her for the first time, no longer watching her from the corner of my eye. "Masen cut my wrists."

The quick scribble of her pen slows. She glances at me over the rim of her wire glasses. "Masen? Is Masen a friend of yours?"

Friend? Is that what you call a person you sexually crave yet are terrified of in the same breath? "No, he's not a friend. He tried to kill me. Twice." Emotion swells inside my chest and I can barely get out the words. "The second time I let him."

"Let him what?"

"Kill me," I whisper, wiping tears from my cheeks. "I only remember bits and pieces of the first time, but I know he did it. I know he pushed me off the cliff. And then I let him touch me again. What kind of sick person does that?"

Cheney tilts her head to one side. "Bella, you're telling me someone was inside your room the night your father found you bleeding?"

"Yes." What is she not getting? "I should have screamed. Maybe Charlie would have found me sooner."

"How did Masen get inside your room?"

I shrug. "Through the window."

"Your bedroom is on the first floor?"

"No, the second." What does it matter how he got in? The point is, he got in! "There's a tree outside. He must have scaled it."

"That's pretty impressive, climbing a tree during a terrible rainstorm."

The doubt in her voice angers me. "Shouldn't you be calling the police or something?"

"Is that something you'd like? For me to call the police?"

"I'd like for you to shut the hell up and get my father."

Dr. Cheney blinks at the growing hostility in my tone. Dizziness spins inside my head and nausea growls in my gut. My head lolls to the left, and I scrunch my eyes and attempt to center myself. When the dizziness subsides, I open them and find the burning bright emeralds of Masen's eyes staring back.

He's standing in the corner of the room near the door, hidden in the shadows. Sunlight streams into the room from the sunny, spring day, but the gleam only lands on his boots. His clothes are still wet, just as they were the night he assaulted me, and the smirking smugness of his smile duplicates the image of him atop me forever embossed inside my head.

"Go away," I say, my voice rising with each syllable. "I said go away."

There's a rustle of paper beside me. Dr. Cheney closing her notebook. "I can't help you if you send me away."

"No, not you." Cold terror washes over me as his grin grows wider. "Him. Masen."

I want to grab the doctor and shake her. Grab her and throw her in front of me so she can become his next victim and I can make a hasty exit. But I don't. I don't grab her, or shake her. Hell, I can't even look at her. Not when he's standing in the corner of the room, commandeering my attention with that devil's smile.

"Bella, you need to calm down." Cheney stands, gripping the notebook against her chest. "Lie back and relax. I'll get the nurse to bring in something to help you rest. We'll talk when you wake up."

"No, you can't leave me alone with him." I make a desperate grab for the sleeve of her jacket.

"I wasn't planning on leaving. I only wanted to push the nurse call button for you." Cheney nods at the button on my bed, opposite from where she stands.

I push the button for her. The nurse's voice crackles from the tiny speaker, but I can't make out what she says.

"Will you please bring Ms. Swan something to help her rest?"

Everything is going on around me: Cheney putting in a med request, a static-filled voice returning an indiscernible reply. All the while, Masen leers at me from near the doorway.

He removes his hands from his jeans and pushes himself away from the wall. Something tells me to close my eyes as he strolls closer to my bed, to refuse to watch him take me or the good doctor down, but I don't. With eyes wide open, I watch him grow closer, until he's standing at the foot of my bed, his back to the door. His gaze shifts from me to the doctor, and those venom-laced eyes shine in deadly amusement. Even a breath away from him Cheney doesn't flinch. Doesn't glance his way.

"Run." My voice comes out in a choked whisper. "He's going to kill you."

Dr. Cheney gives me a sympathetic glance. She perches on the edge of my bed, near my feet, and takes my hands.

"Bella, please try—"

"He's going to kill us," I scream.

I try to jerk my hands from her grasp and throw my legs over the side of the bed, but her grip tightens. The sound of my screams grow with the evil stretch of Masen's grin.

I thrash against Cheney's unrelenting bondage, but she doesn't yield. Her own voice calls out for a nurse, and the door opens. Fluorescent lights from the corridor cast the dim room into a brilliant white.

The nurse sprints through the doorway, and Masen turns to face her. I open my mouth to yell out another warning, but the words still somewhere inside my throat.

The last thing I see before the jab of the nurse's needle and the skeletal fingers of darkness drag me down is the fragmented pieces of Masen floating into the fluorescents.

The nurse walks right through him.

* * *

Sorry for the delay. Let's just say I've been in a writing funk this past ... year. I did manage to write and self-publish a novel called "#superfan," but other than that I've been pretty stagnant when it comes to writing. Hopefully that'll change soon. Hope you enjoyed this little one-shot. As always, thanks to Jonesn for pre-reading and kitchmill for her beta skills. :)


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